


A Warm Day For A Hunt

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Wilderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celegorm convinces Maedhros they all need to take a break, and manages to wrangle them into joining him in his favourite activity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Warm Day For A Hunt

Even in high summer, Himring could still have a slight chilly edge to its breeze. As far north as they were, this was only to be expected, but it was a sharp change from the idyllic Valinorian summers they had so long been accustomed to.

Celegorm was convinced that Maedhros no longer noticed the cold, though. He didn’t complain about it, even in the depths of winter when the wind howled like a wild animal and the snow piled up ten feet deep. He wondered vaguely if next winter they should test this theory by pushing him into one of the snow drifts. Caranthir would probably help him.

Today, though, it was summer, and the sun was as high in the sky as it got in these northern parts. The day was fairly warm, and Celegorm had repaired outside to one of the small gardens they had managed to squeeze into the tightly packed fortress. The grass was thick and healthy, as were the few small bushes of pink roses whose blooms waved slightly in the faint breeze.

“I have concluded,” Celegorm announced, “that you work too hard, brother.”

Maedhros was at the wall, looking out over the landscape. He turned his head and arched an eyebrow in question. “You have often concluded thus.”

“And I do so again.” Celegorm waved an arm behind him, indicating the expanse of the fortress. “You don’t need to spend all your time with your head down over the books, looking over everything that keeps this place going. You have a _castellan_ , for goodness sake. It’s his responsibility to make sure everything is running smoothly from day to day; you only have to check every once in a while.”

Maedhros shook his head. “Is that how you run your own castle?”

“Yes, and it works, might I add.”

“It works because Atarinkë is your castellan, Turko.”

Celegorm frowned. “I’m not sure if you’re insulting me or Fëalómë there, Nelyo. Or perhaps us both.”

 “I would never insult Fëalómë. He is a very good castellan, to be sure. But I do not feel giving him the complete run of my household is a wise decision. Every responsibility should not fall onto one person’s shoulders; that is a sure way to make sure there are errors somewhere. No one is infallible.”

Celegorm huffed. “I still think you should take a break.”

Maedhros smiled slightly. “Perhaps, since it is summer and we are all here, I shall indulge you, then.”

~~~

Maedhros decided their recreational activity should be something they would all enjoy, and especially Celegorm, since he had after all suggested it. They hadn’t been out hunting in the woods around Himring for a long time, so they set out from the gates just after sunrise, a pack of dogs yapping eagerly around their horses’ hooves.

The day was dawning calm and promised to be fairly warm as they trotted down the road that led away from the fortress’ gates. They turned off after about half a mile and made to enter the woods. Maedhros was leading the hunt, and had thus donned a traditional red cloak, and had a long horn hanging from the front of his saddle. The others carried an assortment of bows, with Celegorm also hefting a long spear. This was for spearing boar, apparently.

Only the six of them had come, though it had taken some convincing to get Maglor to part from the musical performance he was orchestrating for Midsummer’s. Amrod had also been slightly reluctant, having only just arrived from his long journey north, but all had been convinced in the end.

They waited a long time while the hounds sniffed around in the undergrowth, trying to pick up a scent. Huan was charging around the clearing they had stopped in, following scent after scent, changing which he was following, then deciding another was better. “If even your hound is confused, we will be in for a catch-less day,” Caranthir remarked sourly.

“Just let him get settled,” Celegorm said, confident in his long-time hunting partner. “This is his area of expertise, after all.”

It was only a few moments later that Huan threw back his head, howled, and launched himself into the bush. The pack of hounds followed, howling and barking, and the chase was on.

They followed the trail of whatever Huan was following through most of the morning, but the scent was lost when they came to a stream the animal had crossed. The huge shaggy dog paced up and down both sides of the stream, nose to the ground, trying to scent where the animal had come out, the pack of hounds following him closely. When they had no luck for a half hour, Maedhros suggested they break for lunch.

“And what if he finds it while we’re eating?” Celegorm asked as the others swung down from their horses, outraged at the idea of pausing in the middle of a chase.

“You can go haring off after him, Turko,” Maglor assured him, handing Curufin slices of bread. “I’m sure we’ll be able to catch up with you.”

As the early morning had promised, the day was warm, and just by the stream the lack of trees allowed bright sunlight to stream down and made the water shimmer and shine. Amrod stretched out on the bank and pointed out the little birds swooping from their nests overhead to Maglor, and they watched them as they ate. Celegorm and Caranthir sat further back, their backs resting against a thick tree, arguing amiably about hunting technique and what animal’s scent Huan had been tracking.

Maedhros wandered by himself a small way up the stream, in the opposite direction to which Huan and the hounds were searching. Around him the forest was still alive with noise despite the presence of all the dogs, and it may have been that which covered the sound of his brother’s footsteps as he came up behind him and softly called his name.

Maedhros almost jumped, but he had long ago learnt to curb that response. He looked round and relaxed. “You crept up on me, Curvo.”

“So I see.” There was an amused glint in Curufin’s eyes. “You aren’t hungry?”

“I’ve eaten my fill.”

Curufin nodded. He didn’t speak for a time, and they were content to stand in comfortable silence, watching birds swoop low over the water to pluck flies from the air. “It is so peaceful out here,” Curufin said thoughtfully.

“It reminds me of a warm day in Estolad,” Maedhros said quietly. “It almost never gets warm like this, here.”

Curufin looked like he would make some more comment, but at that moment they heard Huan’s howl, and a few seconds later Celegorm began to shout. “Looks like the chase has started again,” Maedhros said, smiling.

“Come, you know how he’ll complain if we don’t hurry,” Curufin said, already moving.

They made their way quickly back to where they had left the others, all of whom were already mounted. When they appeared, Celegorm and Caranthir spurred their horses and crossed the stream, making after the sound of Huan’s howls. They mounted quickly and soon were in pursuit, and spent the remainder of the day chasing down unseen quarry in the thick woods until, just as they thought to give up, Caranthir managed to get an arrow in the hind leg of a doe which Huan and the hounds then brought down.

They rode victorious back to Himring as the sun was setting, spreading glorious strokes of gold and orange and red across the wide landscape. The colours played on the stone walls of the fortress as they came near, making it blaze with light like a beacon, as if it were welcoming them home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Castellan: A Castellan is the governor or captain of a castle. Their role generally combines being responsible for the castle's domestic staff and the day-to-day running and administration of the castle with military responsibilities such as maintaining defences and protecting castle lands. Castellans are very important if the Lord of the castle goes away for a period of time, as they often assume his responsibilities while he is away. 
> 
> Climate: I heard somewhere that a note written by Tolkien suggests that the climate of The Shire was supposed to be similar to that of Oxfordshire, and that the climate of Minas Tirith was supposed to be similar to that of Milan or Northern Italy. Based on this information, and using the handy map that combines the maps of Beleriand and Middle-earth, linking them where the former fell into the sea (it's not official, but it seems accurate; unfortunately I have no idea where I saved it from), I concluded that the climate of Estolad would be similar to that of Northern England, maybe Scotland, and that of Himring similar to Southern Norway or Sweden. I also looked into whether roses would actually grow in that part of the world, and apparently they do.
> 
> Red Hunting Cloak: In fox-hunting (especially in England) it is traditional for the Master of the Hunt to wear a red jacket. I substituted cloak for jacket, though no where seems certain of the origin of the custom. In my opinion, I think it was probably simply to mark out the Master, but who knows?


End file.
